Absent
by dnofsunshine
Summary: Takeru has nightmares sometimes. This is the first time in a while that Patamon isn't there to comfort him. Set toward the end of "Kokuhaku/Confession." Contains spoilers. One-shot.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Digimon. **This contains spoilers for the third movie of Digimon Tri, "Kokuhaku/Confessions."** Also, Takeru angst galore. And this is my first Tri one-shot. Proceed with caution.

* * *

Maniacal laughter. Tainted data. Pure data. Screaming. Blinding lights. Feathers. It's a mix of all these things that makes Takeru shift anxiously in his sleep, face contorting with anguish. But he doesn't wake up just yet. Is forced to watch as his partner—his first and best friend—smiles down at him, as though the gesture is enough to dry the tears that have gathered in eight-year-old Takeru's eyes.

He remembers this day clearly. Like it happened just yesterday. Doesn't need to be reminded because he'll never, ever forget it. But his mind refuses to leave the realm of his nightmares which haunts him in his sleep.

 _Stop,_ he wants to shout, but the word will not form. It never does, no matter how many times he tries. Still, he doesn't want them to fight. What is the point in fighting, anyway? It only hurts people. Only leaves scars that always reopen and never properly heal. He wants Devimon to leave and not come back. Wishes for Angemon to just sweep him and the others up and reassure them that it'll be ok.

But that doesn't happen. They hurl attacks at one another, corrupted darkness and evil unleashing every ounce of power onto the forces of light. It's loud, and it's bright, and he can't take it. Angemon looks like he's getting tired, and Takeru knows everyone else is tired, which means that there is no way for his partner to get backup.

This isn't how Patamon's first digivolution is supposed to go.

He blinks and blinks again when fresh tears spill over his cheeks. They make the world blurry and he doesn't like it. But he can't stop them.

"Foolish, foolish Angemon. Exhausting your power here…"

The words echo hauntingly, fills the air with such an intense amount of menace that it makes young Takeru shiver. Angemon says something in response, but Takeru is too terrified, too shocked to hear just what it is.

Because suddenly his partner, his hero, his best friend, is dissolving right in front of him, and he can't do anything to stop it.

"Angemon," he cries out, his voice raw with tears and emotions, and he takes a step forward, but Yamato's strong arms are pulling him back. "Angemon, _no!_ "

His friends and their partners are surrounding the two adult digimon in a circle. He can still hear them shouting endlessly as if their words will stop Angemon from disappearing into the sky.

"Takeru… surely we'll meet again… if that is what you wish."

The dream shifts, and so does Takeru. In his bed, his fingers are curling into fists. Deeply. Deep enough that it leaves little crescent marks in the palms of his hands. But he still cannot wake up.

Now Takeru is three, going on four. He's standing in the kitchen, asking Mama why she doesn't believe him when he tells her that there were big monsters beating each other across the city about ten minutes ago. She keeps smiling like she thinks he's joking.

"They were _there_ , Mama," he insists. "Onii-chan saw them, too, right Onii-chan?"

He looks at his older brother pleadingly, who stares in shock at their mother, his face incredibly pale. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He simply stares, wide-eyed, like the monsters had been fighting in their kitchen and had destroyed it just like they did to the city.

"Onii-chan?" he whispers when Yamato remains silent.

He feels his mother rest a hand on his small shoulders, and suddenly she's kneeling in front of him, the smile on her face faltering. "It was a dream, baby. Go back to bed, alright?"

"It wasn't a dream!"

"Yamato, can you take Takeru back to your room?" she says suddenly. Adds, "And tell your father I want to speak with him."

Yamato nods numbly, and before he knows it, his brother is pushing him out of the kitchen, whispering, "She's joking, Takeru. Play along. Ok?"

He doesn't understand. Still doesn't, even to this day. But when he looks back at Mama, he sees that her fingers are pressed to her eyes as if to stop the flow of tears. He doesn't know why she's crying… is it his fault? He thinks it is. Knows it is somewhere in the back of his mind. People don't cry after telling jokes unless the joke is wrong or sad.

Murmurs, "Ok."

Once again, everything fades and morphs into a memory that is recent. Too recent. He doesn't want to relive it. But still, his mind and body fail to awaken.

His fingers are wrapped tightly around Patamon, whom he knows wants to fight with the others, but Takeru is too stubborn. Too afraid.

 _I can't lose you again; I won't,_ is what ricochets through his mind, and the words are truer than anything else. If he lets go, his partner will most likely never come back. Not as the digimon he knows Patamon to be. If he lets go, they will know. His friends. His brother. All of them. If he lets go, the tears that he's desperately holding back will break loose.

He isn't sure how Patamon breaks free. But everyone is shouting and his head snaps up, eyes popping wide when Patamon is enveloped in a familiar light that signals he is digivolving.

 _No,_ he screams in his head, but just like that day, it won't come out.

Everything happens in slow motion from there. Angemon is fighting and so are the rest of his team's partners, and out of nowhere, his friend glitches red. Static appears. Disappears. Everyone sees it. Watches as the angel digimon spirals out of control. As he lashes out against his comrades.

And it spreads. The virus. Like wildfire. Turns their friends into the monsters that the media depicts them as.

And it's all his fault. All of it.

Takeru wakes with a start, hands shaking as shoves his blankets to the floor in a fuss. Hopeful fingers reach for a bundle of orange and white fur, for the small creature that is one of his closest friends and feels his heart break into pieces all over again when he can't find him.

Because he's not there. He doesn't know if he will ever be there again. Doesn't want to think the words "gone forever" because that will trigger a whole new waterfall of emotions that he doesn't want to deal with: anger, guilt, sadness, fear, and a terrible, painful feeling of loss.

He wants to say that he doesn't cry. Not again. He's already cried so much for the past couple of days, has poured so many tears out that he thinks there isn't any left to cry, but he's wrong. They fill his eyes instantly and roll down his face, hot on his cheeks, salty on his tongue.

"Patamon," he sobs as if saying his partner's name will somehow bring him back. He knows it won't, but he repeats it over and over again, hands digging into his sheets out of frustration and anguish. It hurts. It hurts so much.

Before he knows it, he's punching his bed. Shouts. Again. Again. But each strike, each sob, each scream that leaves his aching throat fails to relieve him of this awful, awful pain; of this empty void deep inside him.

He hates it. Hates Patamon for leaving him. Hates himself more for not being there to protect him; for being so selfish, so afraid, so ashamed that he'd kept it a stupid secret; that he hadn't told anyone; and he isn't sure what would happen if he _did_ tell someone that wasn't Meiko, which only makes him feel worse.

"Takeru," a voice calls out, and his head snaps up. Watery, webbed eyes take in the exhausted form of his older brother. The sight tells him that he isn't at his mother's apartment—no, he's at his father's and Yamato's place.

This isn't his bed. It's Yamato's.

"Onii-chan," he whispers quietly, brokenly. His voice is hoarse but he doesn't care. His father is standing in the doorway behind him, his expression twisted with worry and fatigue. And for some reason, seeing them only makes him want to burst into tears again.

Yamato acts so fast that he doesn't even have time to register what's happening. Suddenly he scooped up in his older brother's arms, and Yamato is kissing his forehead, cradling him to his chest just like he used to do when they were children.

It doesn't matter that he's fourteen. Doesn't matter that Yamato's seventeen. It's like they've taken ten years off, have placed him back in the house which they used to share all that time ago, and he buries his face in the crook of his older brother's neck.

"I miss him so much, Onii-chan," he blurts out, and here comes the tears again, cascading down his cheeks so fast that there's no way to stop them. Yamato's response is to tighten his grip, to pull him closer.

"I know, Keru. I know," he replies tearfully. "I miss them, too. We all do."

He sobs openly into the older blond's shirt, and he doesn't care that their father is watching. Doesn't even notice when he sits down next to Yamato, putting a hand on his tremoring shoulder.

"It's ok." Yamato says the phrase like it's true and repeats it several times, despite the fact that his voice is quivering. Takeru knows it hurts him, too. "He'll come back… they always do. You have to have hope, Takeru."

Takeru sniffs suddenly, wishing that he could forget about that word. Hope. It feels so insignificant compared to this pain, but at the same time, he knows that what his brother is saying is what he needs to hear.

"You think so?" He sounds like a kid. Doesn't care.

"I know so," Yamato assures, and this time his voice is firm. He squeezes Takeru gently for emphasis, resting his chin on Takeru's head. "Don't worry, little bro."

Takeru's heart flutters and Angemon's words echo suddenly in the back of his mind just like in his dream, a promise that he's always kept in the past:

"Takeru… surely we'll meet again... if that is what you wish."

He wishes. With every ounce of hope in him.

* * *

 **a/n:** Let's all just take a moment to acknowledge just how much Toei Animation likes to toy with our emotions. Thank you for reading.

 **edit 10/5/2017: pun intended.**


End file.
